Free White Trail by Fflur Dafydd Page A

to be anything to do with her... they’re... it’s hard to explain. Look, let’s go back to the house. We’ll sit down and talk.’
    Culhwch wasn’t sure what happened next. It seemed unreal to him, walking back through that forest to a house he had called his home for fifteen years, knowing full well he wasn’t supposed to be there. He trailed behind his mother’s shadow feeling like a lost little boy once again. But then he saw something. Just as the moon fell away under a cloud and the whole forest became a silvery, slippery pool, the ground suddenly revealed a trail of white flowers, weaving their way through the forest, in the opposite direction. He couldn’t explain it but he knew, at that moment, that it was Olwen, that she had left a pathway for him, that she wanted him to find her. He realised suddenly that that’s what his mother had uprooted on her journey into the forest, eradicating all traces of life that Olwen had left behind. And so he turned on his heels and ran. The white flowers grew bolder, meatier and brighter as he passed by, the petals spilling over themselves, forming elaborate patterns, boasting new textures. He ran and ran for what seemed like hours, until he came upon an enormous building, right at the far end of the forest. That was where the flowers stopped.
    The house was a colossus of white brick. Its blank face stared down at him. The gardens around it were pristine and well kept, and yet the house was eerily quiet, and apparently deserted. But what he saw next stunned him. Looking up to a high window he saw Olwen, face pressed against the glass. Her body was bulging, and he saw now why she had seemed so curiously heavy and lopsided; she was pregnant. He’d never seen a pregnant woman before, though he’d seen pictures of mammals with bulging stomachs. He saw her hand shooing him away, as she turned to talk to someone in the room. The fright in her eyes was unmistakable and her hand was telling him firmly; go, now .
    He obeyed her gesture, and walked all around the forest until he came to a road. A lovely, plain, forgiving road, that eventually provided him with passing traffic, a kind truck driver, and a means of bringing him to a nearby town. He asked the truck driver if he knew anything about the building in the forest and he said that it was the home of a millionaire.
    â€˜He’s loaded that guy. Ysbaddaden Bencawr, I think he’s called. Acres and acres of land and the tightest security you’ll ever get, I reckon. No one’s allowed within miles of the place. And rumour has it he lives there all alone too. Deliveries by helicopter, that sort of thing. Stinking rich. No one knows how he made his fortune, but it’s got to be something underhand if you ask me. Drugs or something. Coffee beans even. No, probably oil, warfare, something dodgy, it’ll be something illicit, you mark my words.’
    Ysbaddaden. He remembered the name. Olwen’s father. They drove on in silence, the words chiming in Culhwch’s mind.
    â€˜I don’t know who I am. I... I think I belong to someone else,’ the boy finally said. ‘Can you help me?’
    â€˜Hand yourself in,’ the truck driver advised. ‘Look, I’ll take you to the police station. You can tell them everything. They’re bound to have some files on you or something.’
    He drove Culhwch to the police station. He said he’d wait for him. Culhwch went in, saw all these people in uniforms, drunk people being shoved about, girls shouting and crying. He thought of his mother, that frail little bird, being caged in such a place, and he retreated. The truck driver, fiddling with his iPhone, looked up at him excitedly.
    â€˜I just googled something,’ he said. ‘You know, just curious like. The Missing Persons’ Network, it’s called. And I found… I think I found you!’
    That’s when Arthur’s sketch came up.